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give two showing a peculiarly strong trait—his modesty. He did not seek publicity for himself and he had a lower opinion of his work as work that would last than almost any one else. He wrote in all sincerity to his publishers after the Christmas of 1908:
January 1, 1909.
My Dear Mr. Lanter:
I want to say how very much I admire and appreciate the splendid edition of my poor stories that you all put in my stocking for Christmas. Unworthy though they were for such a dress, they take on from it such an added importance that I am sure they will stimulate me to do something worthy of such a binding.
I would say by all means don’t let the Lipton Pub. Co. escape. Wine ’em or chase ’em in an auto and sell ’em all the “Pancakes” they can eat. Any little drippings of Maple Syrup will come in handy after the havoc of Christmas.
I’ll leave things of this sort freely to your judgment.
A Happy New Year to yourself and the House
Very truly yours,
Sydney Porter.
To an admirer who asked for his picture for publication he jocularly refused a request which to most authors is merely a business opportunity. It is a characteristic letter. It was not until very shortly before his death that through much persuasion Sydney Porter finally allowed himself, his picture, and O. Henry to be identified together.
My Dear Mr. Hannigan:
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